dozy
by desolation
Summary: Fluff! Set just after "Flowers And The Detective", Part 1.


Title: dozy

Author: desolation (misseuropalemsipdrinker@hotmail.com)

Rating: PG

Warnings: High Fluff Content. Author assumes no responsibility for any vomiting that may occur as a result of reading this fic. Leon's acting out of character, but that's rather the point.

Disclaimer: Don't be silly.

Author's note: This is a bit of daftness I wrote the other day to cheer myself up. Hope you're in the mood for sap… 

^*^

 Leon was dreaming. He knew he had to be, because everything was hazy, and kind of warm, and he kept trying to look up and see where he was but he couldn't quite manage it. His brain felt strange and muzzy, like he was thinking through treacle or something, and there was that smell again. It was nice. Like – what was it? – flowers. Yeah. Flowers. 

 He felt puzzled for a minute. Flowers. Someone had been saying something about flowers. To him. So he'd been talking to someone. Yeah. For a minute he wasn't quite sure who the someone was, except that what she – or he, or whatever – had been saying had been… good. Soothing. Then he remembered: D. Well of course. Who else did he know that went on about weird shit like flowers for no reason?  He'd been talking to D – or, rather, he'd just been lying there and D had been talking. And feeding him pieces of apple.

 Yuck. He hated fruit. Far too healthy for his liking. Give him a nice greasy pizza any day.

 After a moment, it occurred to Leon that that wasn't normal. _D_ had been… _feeding_ him. And he'd been in bed too. Why was he in bed? He ought to be at the pet shop if D was there, right? 

 Then he gave a mental shrug, finding that it was too much effort to care. He guessed this was a dream. Fucked-up stuff always happened in dreams, and at least this one didn't have any man-eating rabbits in it. 

 Yeah. Anyway. He'd been talking to D. Then… Jill. She'd looked kind of worried at first, but when he'd said hi to her she'd smiled and made some half-hearted crack about how even goddamn gunmen couldn't get him out of her hair. And then he'd felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he remembered thinking something like how some Nurofen would be really good right now, and that had been it.

 But… before that. He'd been dreaming again, he guessed. And that smell of flowers had been there, or at least he thought it must be flowers because it was sweet and kind of homey (even though _his_ home was hardly what you'd call fragrant) and everything had been – red. And there had been petals falling everywhere, landing on his chest and covering him and getting in his eyes and his hair, and then he'd been screwing up his face and squinting really hard through the red, because there was someone… a figure… standing there –

 Smiling at him –

 Someone – and if he could just look hard enough –

^*^

"Detective?" 

 No response. D frowned, and leaned in closer. Leon had been knocked quite out by that last dose of painkillers, but he was certain he'd seen the detective's eyes flicker open for a just a second. 

 "Detective? Can you hear me?"

 Still nothing, for a moment; then a faint stir and a muffled "Hnnh?", and Leon blinked a few times and looked up at him feebly. D felt a faint pang. He'd always been rather drawn to… no, amused by… the young man's brash physicality, and seeing him like this – ragdoll-limp and attached to God-knew-how-many pieces of bleeping machinery – touched him on a faintly disturbing level. 

 "Huh? Wha -- ?" Leon was looking rather confused. "Where'd all the red go?"

 "Red, detective?"

 "Yeah. Red. It was… red. And you were there. And there were…" He trailed off, still looking puzzled.

 D laid one cool hand against the detective's forehead, but his temperature was normal, and he didn't seem fevered. Confusion must be a side-effect of the drugs, he supposed. 

 And then he blinked, his mouth falling open in startlement, because there was a clumsy arm wrapped round his waist, and he was being pulled in closer. 

 "I _thought_ it was you." Leon was rambling nonsensically – tiredness, no doubt, D thought –  but there was a dozy half-smile on his face. And then he nuzzled against the Count's shoulder, and gave a little sigh. "Mmm. You smell nice." 

 Blinking, D extricated himself from Leon's sleepy embrace and sat up. His heart was beating rapidly. 

 "Hey! Don't go 'way." The young human pouted visibly. Actually pouted. Good heavens.

 D swallowed.

 "Detective," he began, "You must be confused. This is me, Leon. Count D."

 "'Course it is. Who else would you be?" 

  Leon was looking right up at him – still a little hazy, but his eyes were focused. What on earth -- ?

 And then D had other things to worry about, because Leon had caught his wrist and was tugging him close again. The detective was still weak – not to mention dosed to the high heavens with painkillers – and it would have been easy to pull back, but somehow D could not quite bring himself to resist. 

 After all, he should not upset the injured policeman any more than was necessary. It would no doubt be bad for his condition. And all Leon was doing was… holding on to him. Perhaps he had just reached out to the first familiar face he saw in his confusion. D had no reason to worry.

 He breathed out, wishing fervently that his heartbeat would stop jittering all over the place like a startled mouse and simply _calm down_, and allowed Leon's arms to relax around him.

 "You're warm."

 D stole a glance up at his companion's face. Leon's eyes were closed, but he looked almost… well, happy.

 This was most interesting.

 His mouth curved in a small smile, then. He let his head come to rest on Leon's shoulder – but gently, being careful not to disturb the tangle of wires and tubes protruding from various places on the human's body.

 The form beneath him went limp in a contented sigh.

 "You sure do act weird, sometimes, D. You know that?"

^*^

 Leon woke some hours later, feeling considerably refreshed. D and Jill had both gone, he realised. He guessed he must have fallen asleep.

 Then something caught his eye. There was a longish, black hair on the pillow beside his head.

 He stared at it for a second, faintly puzzled. Then he frowned. It probably belonged to whoever had been in the bed before him, he guessed. Jesus. Intensive care, and they hadn't even bothered changing the bedding? Exactly how almost-dead did you have to _be_ to get decent service round here?

 That was just _gross._


End file.
